


Paper Heart

by PrittlePrince



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, No Dialogue, Past Violence, Scar-Fondling, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrittlePrince/pseuds/PrittlePrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal corners Will in the catacombs and leaves part of himself behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatviciousvixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatviciousvixen/gifts).



> For sweet kind baby llama [ThatViciousVixen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thatviciousvixen), who urged me to finally finish this <3 <3 <3

There’s a fizzling flurry of sound; the vibration from a harp or violin string, still singing its dying whine into the blackness. The echo of Pazzi’s footsteps, dust and grit crunching on the cement floor, disappear, and Will feels the lightest breeze shift across his bared neck. He folds down the tall lapels of his coat and tilts his chin into the breeze and inhales. Through the stale and the earth there is something lighter and floral: Wisteria blooming by the light of the moon. There is another exit here somewhere. Will has to find Hannibal before Hannibal finds his way out.

Something sparks, and Will feels his own senses craning to latch onto a fading _feeling_. Is he here? Unmistakeable, and Will turns towards the source of his recognition. He feels lightness in his chest, adrenaline and want. 

“ _Hannibal._ ”

Even Hannibal hears the aching, the yearning in Will’s voice. His call bends Hannibal’s awareness and he stills. Soft, gentle; his heart barely beats, the broken, ragged thing it is. His ears are pricked.

Will’s forgiveness seems to linger in the air as though it is a spider’s web, torn from the wall and settling down upon them. Hannibal turns his head to let Will’s enduring voice fall on his ears and nearly hums to harmonize. Something potent is uncoiling in his chest. He twists his jaw to crack a tense line that has developed in his neck. His eyes are hooded as he takes a step forward.

Will senses danger and his eyes dart over his surroundings. Endless pathways, but all well-lit and well-travelled. Will peers into the darkness but sees nothing. There’s no wind. He eases into a shadowy alcove and feels a blanket of safety wash over him. The space smells overwhelmingly of wet mossy earth. A few steps and his backs bumps gently into a jagged wall. The corridor is illuminated before him and he sees his footprints in the dust. He swallows his fear and excitement as his eyes drift shut. He wills his heart to a steady calm and turns to press his hands to the cold cement wall.

He adopts a wide stance familiar to him mostly by the amount of times he’s found himself pushing a suspect into position before handcuffing them. He is still and quiet while he waits for Hannibal to find him or lose him. Either way, Will is fairly certain he won’t leave. He’s created an irresistible game now and with a fond smirk he realizes Hannibal is already playing. He tries to be calm, still, mysteriously absent, but his limbs are braced for a struggle. Nervous, he lets out a slow breath.

The rise and fall of Will’s anxiety coaxes Hannibal as though from prey to a spider, and Hannibal patiently treads the corridors until he approaches an impressive bubble of fear and dread. When he steps to the mouth of the shadowed alcove he can feel Will tremble.

His steps are slow and measured and he feels and hears Will’s frantic rabbit heart as he approaches, sliding into their shared blanket of darkness. He can nearly taste the tears that gather and dry in Will’s eyes as he reaches and places a hand on the wall beside Will’s. He doesn’t bother to hide his breath, his heartbeat, the creaking of his jacket.

Will stares with wide eyes blindly past the wall as Hannibal’s presence settles all around him, plunging him into a startling awareness; the smell of leather, the shift of Hannibal’s breath over his throat, the _heat_ that rolls from him, the barely perceptible shift of muscle and growing tension that seems to tower over Will from behind. He lets out a helplessly rushed breath and his fingers curl into his palms as he feels himself sinking into a thick, dizzying molasses of _tension_.

Silence grows comfortably between them, and Hannibal doesn’t hide his pleasure at Will’s submission. He watches with vague interest when Will’s hand slowly pulls from the wall and then there is only the sift of fabric on fabric as he pops the buttons one by one on his soft cotton shirt. After a moment it hangs open and he lets his arms settle at his sides. Will expects there will be another moment of peace, wonders briefly if he is actually insane and is it at all even possible that Hannibal’s presence is hallucinated- but there is only a beat and Hannibal’s hand slides firm and warm and dry across Will’s sternum.

Will sucks in a breath so quickly he’s lightheaded. His lips part on an involuntary whine that he does not let out but Hannibal _hears_ it, even in Will’s silence, and he does not disguise his answering growl. Will thinks Hannibal will curl his fingers and sink them into this chest cavity and delicately, considerately pull free his heart. But he only swipes his thumb over a rib and his fingers start a slow deliberate trail down to the scar that though numb for months now glows and sears as though it is a fresh brand. 

Will allows himself a breath. Hannibal is pressed close but his only point of contact is the startlingly real slide of his hand. Everywhere he doesn’t touch, Will aches for him. Tension grows to a dizzying level until Hannibal’s fingers skim over the scar, from beginning to end, and Will gasps softly and drops his chin to his chest. Hannibal’s bangs drift into his eyes and he longs to press himself more fully, but his heart feels like an angry, torn thing, sick and vengeful. Will’s fears are his impulses, and it takes everything not to tear into the pale expanse of his throat and watch slick black streams cascade down.

Hannibal, helpless, tugs himself slightly forward but stops, angry and wanting and only spreads a hand, wide and hot up to Will’s neck and holds him there. His grip is light but immoveable as Will’s swallows just to feel him more and Hannibal’s allows himself briefly to nose behind Will’s ear. They are both shaken and wanting, and Hannibal _seethes_ with regret, even as he feels Will answering to his touch, twisting and stretching and yearning.

He pulls away and tears finally spill free onto Will’s cheeks as he sinks forward to the wall, unmoored. His knees settle on the dirty floor and he leans with relief and frustration and dissatisfaction. He doesn’t move until long after Hannibal’s influence has eased out along with his presence. Even when Will stands, stiff from cold and dizzy from darkness, the press of Hannibal’s fingers along his scar still sting like a welt.

Later, he finds the exit, and stands in a gentle breeze as he watches the petals ruffle on a small intricate wreath of Wisteria twisted into a vibrant, life-like heart. It is nestled thoughtfully where two large branches meet, and Will stares with interest at the way the moonlight filters through the little display. He stands with Hannibal’s heart late into the early morning until all the petals have blown away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can follow my at [Tumblr blog here](http://www.prittleprince.tumblr.com) for more sparkles, coffee, and plasma.


End file.
